


derodidymus

by atramento



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Character Study, Flashbacks, Gen, Headcanon, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atramento/pseuds/atramento
Summary: One time Campbell was very cruel and one time he was not.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

The cold damp mingled with the distinct taste of blood as Campbell exhaled his fogged frustration. Why was there always some ingrate to make it that much more difficult to proceed around here? The whole affair could be as simple as confessing and letting him enact punishment. 

And yet here sat Martin, slumped and bleeding from his face in a couple of orifices. He had not spoken hardly the whole time; choosing instead to rankle blooded spit onto his interrogator’s face. It would have been more impressive in its simple defiance if Campbell was not so disgusted that Martin would do such in the midst of a _plague_. 

“We know you planted a guard, Martin. Sweet talked the fool into hiding a key somewhere for the former Lord Protector to find and escape with--” 

Campbell grabbed Martin by the top of his hair, pulling back his head with grimaced satisfaction. 

“--and we also know, you and I, how well-acquainted you are with talking people into hasty decisions.” Martin’s steel eyes lolled dully up at Campbell, one of them encircled with a distended bruise. 

_“Go to hell, Campbell.”_ Martin rasped.

\---

Frost that had gathered upon steps crunched under Campbell’s boots as he stepped out from the Abbey into the open winter air. 

A smattering of people stood outside cheering and clapping. He would smirk and wave back though feeling slightly indignant about the size of the crowd. Much smaller than what should be expected for all of the ceremony of appointing a new High Overseer.

_Heathens, all of them._

A nagging voice in the back of his head whispered of merely getting back what one worked for-- but he internally swatted away such a voice. Bribery was no easy task... Neither was writing said blackmail down into a comprehensive journal. On top of that, maintaining his overseer regiment and duties; his work was hardly done. The contrary, it had just begun. 

But for now? Thaddeus Campbell knew he needed a drink more than anything. 

With the pathways largely cleared this time of day, Campbell made a quick pace down the cobbled streets. He only stopped to peer curiously into one’s window or to see if another’s roof would perhaps later bend and collapse under the heft of snow that had littered onto it overnight. The houses and buildings he found himself most interested in were the ones that seemed to have no light emanating from them. Were the owners out or merely more than haunted spirits now? 

He would not linger long either way. The window of time for him to get a drink was slim, especially a drink that was more than a pinch alcoholic. Void _forbid_ that a man, even a man of the cloth, should get a drink after all. These Southern Gristolians and their religious fervor... damn them all. 

Campbell hardly had time to continue cursing the nature of his new flock though before he felt a knife press against the small of his back and through his coat. 

\---

“Hell is already here, Martin.” Campbell replied with a bold little smirk. His gloved fingers were still rooted deeply into Martin’s thick, dark hair. “For you, that is. This torture would end if you but confessed.” 

“Alright...” Martin groaned. His eyelids were flitting as though he was deciding if it was less painful to try and close them or to leave them open. Campbell’s smile grew. Finally, for void’s sake! 

“I confess that I knew all along you’re a spineless schoolmarm without your little dealings and secrets.” Campbell’s eyes widened and his temper ran hot; he let go of Martin’s hair only to backhand him. 

“You miserable bed of muck!” Campbell hissed. He stared at Martin’s battered and slouched form before lifting him by the hair once more. “Confess now or be placed in the stocks another night!” 

Martin did not answer. 

“Teague...” Campbell lowered himself and his voice. “Last chance tonight. Confess... or prolong your suffering.” What little patience the High Overseer had at the start of his office, he had long since run thin. 

The Morlish man licked his dry and cracked lips, determined to test Campbell’s composure in return. “I’ve seen starving refugees do worse than this. Haven’t you?” 


	2. Chapter 2

“Hand me all your coins and this doesn’t have to get violent.” 

Campbell wondered if this was some measure of irony meant to chastise him, conducted entirely on the whim of the Outsider. Or perhaps luck was simply feeling rather trite with him tonight. Either way, he eased a careful inch away from the knife to turn around slowly. The man brandishing the knife couldn’t have been older than his twenties-- twenty-nine at the oldest. 

Thick dark hair was pushed back out of his eyes and added to his dangerous and unkempt appearance. His eyes, blue and almost made of steel, glared hungry at the high overseer. “Got rocks in your ears?” 

Yes, that was definitely a Morlish accent the man was attempting to mask. He was a refugee; and a thin one at that.

Campbell might have pitied this man more however if he had _not_ drawn a knife on what was ostensibly his own religious leader. Still, Campbell knew he could _play_ the part of a _benevolent_ leader if needed. And did this man need it...

“No; though I do believe you might consider what I have to say.” He lets himself stretch; as much as his coat and the half-feral thief would allow.

The man only stopped tensing a fraction, his eyes narrowing and his knuckles white over the blade’s grip handle. He might have been more handsome if he was not scowling so deeply nor his body so gangly... but he held that knife with confidence... 

Yes, Campbell was fast considering an idea to spare his own hide a fight, an embarrassment-- or worse. “I’ll hear it.” The man replied finally, with a distinct note of grim amusement in his tone.

\---

Despite his many obvious flaws Campbell was, as humans are given to be, a multi-faceted person. Studious of others and their personalities, able to flexibly play roles as needed, the beginning of a shrewd negotiator even; and often confident in his ability to wiggle out of danger and consequences. 

But patient and humorous, he was certainly not.

“This isn’t _about_ the refugees, Martin!” He shrieked. Campbell stood, kicking Martin’s side in frustration. “This isn’t even about you, you smug bastard... This is about Corvo and how he managed to break out of Coldridge! AND I WANT YOUR CONFESSION FOR AIDING THE ESCAPE OF A DANGEROUS CRIMINAL..!” 

Silence blanketed the room immediately after the clamorous timor of Campbell’s rage. Campbell took it to pace the room restlessly, making certain to scowl at Martin and his numbly calm expression every so often. 

Finally, he thought of what he wanted to say. “Was it that Darion fellow? I know he, you, and Overseer Windham have been quite chummy in the past, and--” 

“This isn’t something you can avoid your way out of, Campbell.” Martin’s voice, eerily calm, seemed stronger than before-- even if he hadn’t raised his voice or adjusted the pitch of it. Campbell looked at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. “It’s coming...” 

Martin smirked while Campbell hissed and went to fetch one of the overseers over. “Corvo’s coming for you...” His voice was too singsong for a man beaten, bruised, and held at the mercy of his former allies.

“SILENCE!” Campbell thundered from a distance, which only grew Martin’s smirk. They both knew the High Overseer was sweating a little now. 

He had been one of the more ‘active’ presences during Corvo’s six-month interregnum at Coldridge Prison; not to mention he was a close ally for the Lord Regent. He could practically feel Corvo’s presence, a shadowy hive of hornets and filled with nothing but anger and resentment. A sensible Overseer might have pointed out that this was the paranoia talking and that Corvo was weakened from his time in prison-- but a far more sensible one knew to keep his silence. 


	3. Chapter 3

Campbell offered the man an almost kindly smile. “You certainly won’t need that knife, what I’m about to offer you.” He was already imagining the ways he could mold this young man to serve the Abbey-- which was to say, to serve Campbell himself. “And what I mean by that is... free meals, free bed, and brotherhood with the other men of the Abbey. Why, one day you could even be the High Overseer!” Campbell felt the lie slip out as easily as the refugee put the knife to his side. “Devotion within the Abbey is rewarded.” 

“Yeah?” The young refugee cocked a grin at Campbell. 

“Certainly; won’t you come this way with me?” The high overseer turned back towards where the Abbey stood, gesturing with a hand loosely towards the direction of the large building. 

At the time, Campbell had been relieved that this young man smiled back at him. Now in retrospection it was the thin, calculated smile of a creature that knew it had slipped past a great obstacle unworthy. 

Martin could _pretend_ he was a changed and holier man but Campbell remembered precisely the man he used to be. He knew... even now he knew what Martin was truly like after all other cards had been played and the deck emptied. 

A thief and an opportunist through and through.

\---

Campbell sat in his office, deep in impious contemplation. He watched as two overseers silently dragged a limp Teague out from the interrogation room below. He hoped, with a dark chuckle, that another night in stocks would break the man’s resolve.

Yet without undeniable proof of Martin’s involvement in Corvo’s jailbreak, Campbell could do no more than that. He could not have Martin branded even with his current force of will over the Abbey. Naturally, the whims of the void would have it that  _ Teague Martin _ would be able to scrape by with a level of punishment that he could hope to recover from. The man had uncanny luck...

Campbell shook his head. He had to focus now; Martin was not the only matter of business on his desk. He pushed aside a few papers to see a small card that piqued his interest. Ah, his shipment had arrived? About time... now he could call Curnow up for a meeting. 

Now maybe he could start building a countermeasure plan...


End file.
